


Codependency

by williammurderface



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Backstory, Established Character Death, Gen, Heavily Headcanon Based, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2016-10-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 14:23:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8288857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/williammurderface/pseuds/williammurderface
Summary: Charles knew nothing of them. Not their names, or the struggles they had gone to get to where they are now. With enough research, the truth is revealed about the origins of the Metal Masked Assassin and his brother.





	

**July 14th, 2009**

**Mordhaus**

Charles had to take matters into his own hands after the band's performance at the hospital. He had assumed things would go well, but he could never be too careful. With that being said, he had managed to save their lives. No one had expected the Revengencers to show up, but with the planned bombings at various Duncan Hill's Coffee buildings, Charles should have seen it.

Charles had chastised himself for a good few hours before deciding that he would make sure planned attacks would be prevented beforehand. He had to be extremely cautious, and with the business he was in, there was no such thing as being too careful. Sloppy work was not in his style, and he would make extreme precautions to make sure the band was the safest they'd ever been.

Security had improved by a large margin, numbers increasing en masse with constant eyes on the boys, though it was subtle enough for them to be unaware of the whole thing. He'd requested that they remain at ease for the remainder of their ailments, but he had the feeling they wouldn't have listened anyways. It was a small price to pay, but in the end, his job was extremely gratifying for all it's worth. He just wasn't sure when the next attack would be, and most importantly, where the Metal Masked Assassin was hiding. The son of a bitch was always stealthy, managing to escape his grasp just when he'd thought he'd know where he might pop up next.

It wasn't as if Charles was incapable of getting the information he needed nor did he fail to try to. It was the fact that this man had gone to such great lengths to keep his records hidden. He must have had connections, or he had deleted his records long ago. There was no indication that his name was online anywhere, only very few results showed when Charles had searched up Metal Masked Assassin, or anything that would indicate his identity. As frustrating as it was, he would not give in until he had enough information to satisfy the growing concerns pooling in the back of his mind.

His hazel eyes were moving across the large screens, many profiles and pictures of people that could have been him flying by. That was the thing, though they had the possibility of being him or even related, they weren't. He'd been at this for an hour or so and yet, there had been no results thus far. Charles would have to weigh his options; it was either this long and rather dull process, or he'd have to gather DNA. He would have called the hospital he was born in, visit foster homes or anything related to him, but the man had done almost too well to cover his tracks. There was no way to get his DNA without having to face him directly and he did not want to risk that option.

There was, however, an alternative. One that was certainly a long stretch and it would take a lot of effort to get everything that was needed. Charles was going to place his bets on this slim chance that there was still remotely a trace of DNA left of the Assassin's brother. He'd died in Mordhaus a little over a year ago, and while it was, ah, an awkward death, he was still cleaned up responsibly by Klokateer 666.

Speaking of which, Charles would need a word with her. She tended to keep a few 'souvenirs' to herself, and with that being a tiny little detail he'd conveniently remembered by chance. A part of him though, did wish that it wasn't as bad as keeping a finger or organ. Though that would make this task a lot easier if she did.

He stood up from his chair, brushing off his suit nonchalantly as he scanned the computers swiftly one last time.

"Keep searching. I need to have a word with someone."

 ----

"666, now, are you absolutely positive that you, ah, managed to grab a, ah, piece of cloth?"

Charles had opted to stand in the doorway of the entrance to the Klokateer's room, having noticed the...intricate decorations spread across her room.

It was the standard dull, concrete walls and flooring, much like those accommodated in prisons, though the beds were much more comfortable. It was suited with desks and shelves in case they ever received gifts from family, though in her case, it was her interesting collection.

As he had suspected, she collected memoirs of the more important and eventful deaths that had occurred in Mordhaus. Sometimes, given circumstances, they needed to give something to the families of the deceased. Even if it was minuscule, it saved them the trouble of unnecessary media attention, or unwanted lawsuits. Klokateers knew what they were getting into when they joined, Charles had made that clear.

He took note of the vast array of jars containing a variety of body parts, not limited to eyeballs and brain matter. It was a little unsettling to say the least, but Charles had gone through much worse, and with death being an every day occurrence, it was expected to see something along these lines.

"Ah, he was the one that posed as 216, am I correct?"

"Ah, yes. I need, ah, a substantial amount of...ah, body...parts. Assuming there was enough to salvage before the, ah, funeral."

A moment of thought reflected on the woman's face, as much as it could be visible underneath her hood. She nodded, turning back into her room as she moved aside a few jars- which Charles had noticed were labeled with numbers. Old Klokateers, presumably.

At least someone was keeping track of who died. It would be tedious to have to remember the numbers of the remaining ones. He'd keep a mental note of that; assign a Klokateer to keep track of the numbers. He didn't need to repeat the situation with 216. At least the deaths of the other Klokateers didn't result in a homicidal psychopath hellbent on revenge coming after him at every turn.

There was almost a detection of a sigh from Offdensen. This entire business with the Assassin was getting to him, as loathsome as that was to admit. All the more to emphasize the importance of this visit.

"I hope this will suffice, sire. I acquired it after inspecting the, um...diamond encrusted codpiece after the incident."

Charles blinked for a moment, looking down to find a small, plastic bag labeled '216' rested in the palm of his hand.

A tooth. It was something, and he was aware that acquiring DNA from a tooth was in fact, plausible. A lucky man, indeed.

"Thank you, ah, 666. Please take this to, ah, get a DNA test. Once it's finished, report to my office immediately."

"Yes, sire."

 ----

It'd had been a few hours, give or take. Charles had honestly lost track of the time that had past since attempting Plan B. He knew that focusing too much at the matter at hand would make the wait all the more antagonizing. Rather than wait, he'd found himself in the company of a few of Dethklok, Toki and Pickles opting to stay in bed due to them having the worst of the cold virus flying around.

"Okay, so like, you mean eating peppers right now would be-"

"Not a good idea, ah, yes."

"Ams doesn't makes sense. Whys would pepper be bads for yous?"

Charles, keeping a straight face the best that he could as well as trying to keep himself composed, stared at the three bandmates. Skwisgaar drinking coffee while both Nathan and Murderface shrouded themselves in thick, furry blankets.

"Yeah, why?"

"Because, ah, Skwisgaar and William, it can cause, ah, a sensory overload. Being cold and hot is, ah, not a pleasant experience. As far as I'm concerned."

Nathan had caught that implication quicker than the other two, eyes narrowed almost suspiciously as he prepared himself to interject with the age old question of 'how do you know that, huh?'

Before that opportunity had risen, however, a Klokateer had entered the room before anyone could realize that she was present.

"Sire, we have the results. It's best that you take a look at these immediately."

Charles had stood up promptly, no sign of hesitation as he took the folder from her hands. Her reward had been a nod from the CFO, and while it didn't seem like much to anyone else, it certainly meant that someone had done a good job.

"Thank you, 734. Would you, ah, mind taking the boys for me?"

"What the fuck Charles."

"We were totally in the middle of a conversation, you can't just do that!"

"We can continue another time, you ah, need to rest. Now."

There wasn't much to argue against, because the moment Charles had given them that look, the one that had an extremely vague expression that he was completely serious, the conversation was over. The Klokateer had to escort them out, much to her chagrin, and the boys' delight.

Charles had decided to ignore the off-hand comments they were making about how lovely she looked today, going over to sit at his desk once more.

He'd be lying if he didn't say there was slight anticipation fueling him. These two men were shrouded in complete mystery, and he would be one of the few to get a glimpse at their true identities.

His fingers ran alongside the opening of the folder, spreading it and allowing the contents to spread across his desk with freedom. His eyes scanned them, taking note of the pictures and the locations. Hospital records, birth certificates. These Klokateers had really gone through the extra mile.

"Croagers."

His hands fell on the paper with whom he assumed was their father. On a newspaper article no less, now this was interesting.

Steve Croager found dead.

_Jesus, they start young, don't they?_

Charles's fingers flipped through each papers, mostly pertaining to their parents and their own information. While it was something, it wasn't what he had in mind, until he had found a crucial part in his search.

A family photo, though he had noticed the mother was absent. Which only led to two options; either there was a divorce, or she had passed away. Murdered. Anything could happen with these two.

A standard, tall policeman with a beer gut, blond hair and that familiar, drunk gaze in his eyes. Most likely abused his power, from the description he was getting. In front of him two children, the elder with long, brown hair hanging just above his shoulders. His smile wasn't genuine, he could tell that much.

The youngest. That had caught his attention almost immediately. Platinum, dirtied blond hair, just touching his neck. His eyes. The right green, the left brown. So that's what he was hiding, heterochromia. Complete, from the looks of it.

This was a huge step further, he'd have to search more however. He needed names, something that could get him a lead. If he had names, he could track them to schools, hospitals, most likely police stations. It was at the tip of his fingers, so tantalizingly close and yet it seemed so far.

"What exactly happened with you two?"

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if this was a little rushed! I wanted to do a good introductory prologue to get the gist of what the story is about.
> 
> Nothing of importance here, but future chapters will have a looooot of dark topics so be aware of that.


End file.
